I don't believe in having a high pain tolerance, nor do I see it as a talent. Consider it, you couldn't possibly know how much pain you can take, unless your guts are being ripped out. You'll never know the absolute limits to your body, until you're on the brink of death. Though even if you can tolerate that sort of torture, I doubt you'd want to remember it, especially if you're still breathing.
My bloodstream feels on fire, that's how I know the storm is coming. Most would look outside, admiring the flashes that paint the early morning sky, but I'll never have that.
"You need to leave now, Oliver." I say gently, placing my keys on my apartment bench, watching the boy hover around the kitchen. I become fiddly, trying to avoid all urges to show him the pain has begun.
"I know, I know…" Oliver sighs, taking a minute to grab my shoulders and meet my eye level. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"
Holding unto his arms, I find my words are faulted when my head begins to throb. "Oliver," I pause, closing my eyes in attempt to stop from clawing at his arm. "Please go."
"Alright, you'll be okay." Oliver says, fully aware of what's to come. He hustles to switch off lights, hearing the door lightly click upon leaving.
That's when I allow myself to scream.
My bloodstream is ignited, shocking my body unto my knees. As if stung by a thousand bees, every inhale becomes torture for my lungs, I want to physically cough them up. It sounds like I'm choking, every vocal vibration encourages my stomach to hurl acid up my throat. I'm left in absolute agony as I let everything grow, mutate and dissolve.
Heaving over to the mirror, I struggle to contain every sob that escapes my lips, begging to stop. First, comes the prints, making me grip the floor as all feeling seems to melt away. The leopard markings across my back ache, the tinted skin reveals the sensation of being carved with a million knifes.
As if directly infused with heavy drugs, my legs are implanted with overwhelming energy. Directed by that energy, I scrape unto my feet, looking out at the storm in anger.
It just HAD to storm, on a night I should get some sleep. Probably just another test run, some extra rain for the city, perhaps just for personal torture. Carla wouldn't have a single clue on what I go through, death would be easier.
Attempting to disperse some rage, I pick up a nearby chair, flinging it cross the room. I hate the pain, I hate the storms, I hate Carla.
The rain begins to plunder down, covering any traces of a peaceful sunrise. In my effort to pick up another chair, I feel my lower back rip open, sending me back onto the floor. Blood gushes out from the split, leaving a large pool on the ground. Between countless screams, my muscles twitch violently, movement is impossible.
Stripped of all humanity, I sense every bone in my fingers break, shattering themselves over and over. Along with the sound of heavy rain, I screech uncontrollably as the bone hardens itself together. Skin is agonizingly stretched as the bone begins to expand, seconds before the it sharpens, tearing my fingertips open. Blood and muscle splatter, sinking to the floor with other portions of blood. Finally, my palms adapt to the new situation, blending into the bone and allowing my fingers to evidentially flake away. Leaving a fresh, terrifying, set of claws.
It's oddly fascinating, how the goodness in someone's life, can also be their greatest downfall. It's represented in history countless times, because we can never avoid it. The word 'weakness,' is sometimes represented as a temptation, something you long for. It's the piece of cake you wish for, the money you have and the lovers you cherish, it's all vulnerabilities.
These features all display positivity in our lives, but can also turn into our biggest downfalls. Heaps of cake can make you overweight, excessive money can make you greedy and too much love can cause a world of heartbreak. I believe it's as simple as that.
But the biggest trick of it all is, we wouldn't give it up, even in knowledge of being a weakness. I see myself that way, because I'd never give up my abilities, despite all the pain. As if I'm a sitting duck, my own body becomes my enemy, my own strengths become my weaknesses. However, I wouldn't trade a piece of it for the world, not for any great love.
The sound of thunder echoes in my ears like church bells on a constant ring, sending my vision into a hectic spasm. I can't contain my shrieks, watching as a grey substance overlap my eyes, sending me blind.
I can't see, I can't move, I can only scream.
Me, Orabelle, royal family, Agatha, sister, cousin.
Animalistic experiment, worthless, pawn piece, murderous spy.
Laying on death's doormat every time her majesty commands scientific rain.
Regardless, in a horrifying and dismaying manner, I slip into an unavoidable sleep.
"Do you really think he's that much of a danger?" Oliver asks, pouring a waterfall of milk into his cereal bowl before heaving a large spoonful into his mouth. "I mean... he could be a threat and all but… something seems off…"
Despite the horror from earlier, I always wake up perfectly fine. Other than some trauma, a pile of blood and my finger remains, it's usually okay. Yes, that does sound messed up as hell, but welcome to my life. My abilities aren't magic, they're not pretty.
I sigh, stirring a small teaspoon of sugar into my coffee. "I don't know, I just need to follow orders. It'll be hand to hand, as a gunshot would be too suspicious if he disappears." I say, carrying my cup unto the couch. The room is dark and the curtains are closed, just how I like it.
"Then… do you have a plan?" Oliver asks, more curious than ever since he's involved in the assignment.
"The biggest challenge will be luring him into a secure location, meaning I have to earn his trust." I say, finishing the short black and walking back towards the bedroom. "I have to revisit his profile, I'll meet you downstairs with my bag in 20."
With a sweet little nod coated in the leftovers of boyish cereal consumption, Oliver watched as I slipped into my bedroom.
I huffed towards my desk, opening my computer and waiting for it to load. For a brief second, I catch a glimpse of the mirror, having to take a double take when I couldn't recognise the woman who glanced back. Again.
No one could really describe the feeling of trying to become used to a new appearance, unless you've actually experienced it. Eadlyin is pretty, almost annoying to how her appearance points directly to a beach blondie stereotype. If I'm honest though, I'm impressed she survived last night.
A little button nose much reflects my own, although it feels strange to no longer be coated in freckles. My eyes are the only thing that draws back to Orabelle, the real person who gives such a deadly personality to Eadlyin, one of a killer.
It would feel psychotic to feel amused, but I guess assassination is normal to me by now. These people pay for their crimes, I get paid to punish them, it's pretty simple.
Fully alone, I take a second to stretch my eager muscles. When I was younger, this process was endlessly painful, but now it's merely routine. My body adores the art of sport, or any form of leg use. Snow leopards can jump metres above average range, allowing me simular quad abilities of the wild kitten.
To be fully clear, certainly can't do most things without having enormous amounts of hurt. Not capable to grow my claws, not that I really want to.
Although my strength is available to use, especially in my legs. Naturally, most of my human abilities are slightly advanced, at least I think so. Any other aptitudes I possess, I pass out before storms can make them even remotely useful.
It seems cool, until you're an enthusiastic puppy, desperate for an energy realise.
Having the DNA of another species is risky, pretty much impossible. My parents were worried if I'd make it, I was born particularly small after the embryo adaptation. As a child, I was typically in pain from body structure problems. I'm certain someone died in the body modifications, but everyone tried to hide that from me.
All those skills are handy for missions though, gives me a unique edge. Carla encourages me to use it regularly, especially since their usefulness is in exchange for my freedom.
The computer signals it's spur of life, turning my attention back to the screen and changing back to fully human. "Okay Jackson Eve, let's see who you are…" I mutter, refreshing myself with the emailed file from last night and beginning some research.
Although common sources proceeded to tell me nothing super unexpected from a typical adolescent, I dig a deeper into more secretive websites. I'm caught off-guard when his name appears under the military, opening with a large picture of his face once again.
"Traded up from overseas military, eh?" mumbling spills under my breath, recalling his large role within the troop. Military certainly seems more honourable than this dirty war, then why is he working for her?
Nothing on the interwebs, nothing from Carla…
She's got some dirt on him. I mean, he could've also just left military based on own beliefs. The odds, however, draw towards the more suspicious concept. The chances that a proud leader steps down from military standards to help with chasing half-witted criminals? Without a single trace of why or how?
Could he have gotten kicked out? Possibly had an incident in double-crossing already? It's not like that idea is outrageous, considering our circumstances.
Further down the profile, I spot another image, Jackson being surrounded by multiple people. Friends, I guess I should assume, seemingly appear cheery and laughing. Maybe these are the friends Carla was discussing last night? Being a tight knitted crew would be enough reasoning to trust one another with whatever issue Jackson seems to have.
Would they be such a close-knit group, that I won't be able to get Jackson alone? How will I fool military professions away from any suspicion? I guess Oliver could help with alibis, but that would depend on the context… of his murder.
I can't help but be overly curious, what could a single man possibly commit to have Carla so interested? Attacked multiple representatives? Stolen valuable property of the military? Disobeyed an important order?
Why would she hire a man out of military?
Restlessness rattles inside me like a wild animal in a cage, my chest filling with envy on the information he may have that I do not. Maybe I could coach his crimes out of him, just to satisfy myself in questions before completing my mission.
Attempting to memorise the faces within the image quickly, I tie my scabbed yet practical working boots before heading towards the ever-so-familiar elevator.
He may be confusing as hell, but time to greet the man of the hour.
Carla wants us flown in, nothing but the best style, I guess. The navy coloured helicopter was already hovering off the ground upon arrival, full of supplies accompanied with our drop off.
Alice is already waiting, despite seemingly heavily occupied by her tablet. Alice is wrapped in a shiny pink dress, which lacks camouflage in comparison to dark suits. Either way, I appreciate her send offs, knowing she's anticipating a healthy return.
"Try to come back in one piece, the both of you." Alice declares, squeezing me into a tight hug.
"It's just a week, we'll have a ball." I reply, attempting to assure the girl. Typically, people wouldn't be too worried about my missions, or who I'm going against. In contrary, Alice is aware on the exact jeopardy I'm against. "No boys over either, young missy! I'll know!"
The smile on her face is enough to tell me everything, including her need for a break, maybe even with a boy. "Oh please, you wouldn't know even if you tried!"
Oliver leads me away from my little sister, sensing the need to leave. The heavy wind sends my golden locks into a vigorous rage the closer we get to the helicopter. Other associates lend a hand into the chopper, tightly fitting me in the troop member mix.
"Where are you two heading?" A woman asks, a feisty tone melted into a thick accent.
"Troop 464, outside city walls." I reply, feeling her stand-off vibes.
She doesn't cover her surprised expression, curiousity evolving into her tone. "Jackie boy's troop? What's your business there?"
Suddenly, a voice come from the pilot, causing the woman to go silent. "Back off Amanda, they have orders from the Queen."
Jackie boy.
Oh God.
As we fly out of city walls, I stare distantly out of the window. Something tickles my heart as I watch the white marble walling and summer leaves twirl away in the distance. What if I get caught in the act? What if I fail to rescue other hostages?
Oliver's comforting hand my worries away, I turn from the window towards the face which still is strange to register my future king or cousin. His model smile remains, his sweet touch still the same as he squeezes my shoulder. "You ready?"
I squeeze his hand, an unescapable smile creeping across my face. It doesn't matter, whatever comes, it will be. "Sure, let's have a blast."
The escorted ride outside the Marx kingdom seemed never-ending, but I guess any trip outside urban environments is like that. Not many people live outside of the city, but those who do never really return, especially if they get stuck with work. So, other than agricultural communities, there isn't much else in the thick shrubbery.
Although most love the concept of venturing far beyond normal human standards, war can bring on such terrible things to land. Various broken towns come into sight, thick smoke illuminating like its own badge in defeat.
Perhaps the worst of it all is the fire damage, dripping the once beautiful crops into harsh, defeated, black ash. I guess I can only imagine it, the loss of all your life's work dazzling into flames, all because of petty royal haters. I wouldn't blame them for hating Carla for it too, being the reason they're starving and all. Though, that's also why the troops come, to fight the evil.
Two hours out of the city, forest borders the bump road below, the scorching sun beaming down as the day becomes hotter. I feel the pressure of the mission start to rise, my head starting to swirl every time I start to get lost in thought, using different mental methods to calm down.
"Alright Foster, Legend, we'll drop you off at the campsite below." The pilot, Amanda, instructs us.
My heart jerks from my thoughts when the chopper slows and suddenly it's all starting to be much more real. I look down on the small village, surrounded by crops and forest, steamed by the summer heat.
I notice something a little off, I barely make out people, but they're running. All around the village, inside and outside of houses. Some of them… are distinctively in red? Why?
Then it clicks.
"Someone's raiding the village, we have to get down there." I say, grabbing a parachute and passing to Oliver.
"What? No, we've been ordered to land you, introduce you to the troop." Another woman says, watching as I strap on my own parachute, glancing out the door to the village.
"If you land, they'll raid the helicopter, we have no clue what they're capable of." I say, checking Oliver's straps. He looks alert, clearly never jumped out of a helicopter before, but surprisingly not scared.
The young model straightens my suit, checking the helmet and goggles with distant caution. "Are you ready?" he asks, hinting his eyes towards the large jump awaiting our adventure. His eyes sparkle in the chaos, the howling wind only illuminating his euphoric pupils. I don't know whether I should welcome against his wave of calm, or let the adrenaline pump my veins.
"We can't disobey an order from her majesty, you should know that." Amanda says, tension from the other agents rising.
"Well then," I say, a small smile escaping my lips. Standing by the door, spread my arms, edging closer to the helicopter's railing. "Tell her majesty 7that Eadlyin Foster jumped out of the helicopter instead."
With a deep sigh, I merge my thoughts with the scent of fresh air. Then I watch, ever so slowly, as I lean backwards into the open sky.
Followed hesitantly by Oliver, I twist my body to look at the ground, feeling like a bird out of the cage.
The wind rushes against my body, as I watch the sky engulf my inability to even speak. It's a dangerously beautiful dance, letting the world hypnotise your senses, as gravity heaves your fragile body towards earth. A moment of purity, nothing else could possibly distract you. I see it as the peace between earth and sky, to which humans are welcomed into nature's unspoken grace.
Yes, of course, looking down many meters in the air is quite uncomfortable to some. I avoid the thought, it's almost sad to ruin such a glorious experience with fear.
The shimmering sun, the lashing breeze, the sense of absolute freedom.
"So, now what?" he asks, looking at the shrubbery. My mind ticks, doing its best to try and locate anything. Should we get moving? Even if were to get moving, which way should we go? My ears pick up something, very faint but moving towards us.
"They're yelling." I say, listening to distant stirs of hectic voices. Looking in the direction of the source, the distance doesn't seem so far. We'd make it in half the time if it wasn't for the bushland. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers.
We rush towards the village, pausing when the untrained Oliver grows tired. I snatch his gun from his belt, placing it in his hand. "Listen, hold the gun up, keep out of open areas, protect children. If someone comes at you, you shoot them, okay? Call my name if you're hurt, I'll be able to hear you."
A little more terrified than before, Oliver nods. "Go ahead of me, you'll be quicker."
Children tend to stay quiet when they're threatened, or don't scream as much as you'd think. I believe it's their first instinct to hide, but when they can't physically, it's their emotions they hide.
It's almost like drowning, children don't tend to thrash around, they'd just sink to the bottom. I find it terrifying, the idea of dying in utter silence, feeling so helpless and lonely.
I'm probably not the only one who feels like that, or scared at the thought of a loved one deceasing under their care. However, it's sort of my job to reverse, in a weird way. To make sure those who can't defend themselves be heard, but kill those who deserve to die alone.
Arriving at the small town, layers of dust scatter the streets in the hustle of people. The horrified screams, plentiful gunshot and subtle groans of death coax my senses.
The town is simple, mainly crafted from stone and wood, considered poverty compared to the city. The commoners dress simple, but display dull colouring in their clothing. The streets are clean and the crops seem sophisticated, a simple life is a peaceful life, I guess.
"Get off me!" A woman yells to my right, being held sexually by a man. Head to toe in red, armed with a gun and sword, he appears gigantically scary in height.
Instincts overwhelm me in a single second, rage barely scrapping the surface of my infamous emotions. Racing towards the scum soul, I realise just how bad the raid is. What are they after? They just want to steal and kill? I thought the war was with the city?
My focus stays on the man, as his hand wraps around his victim's throat. Wishing I could claw his throat out, I grit my teeth and run faster. Trying to dodge other escapees in the street, I leap unto a porch, grabbing my gun in the process.
Getting my footing into some of the terrace fencing, I soar into the air, heading straight unto the man's shoulders. Glancing at the woman for a second, she barely clings to life, making me yell in fury. In a swift, deadly movement, I land and drag his body into a tumble unto the ground. Dust shimmers everywhere in the quick seconds I shoot his head, then detach myself from his body.
The lady, now on the ground, finally gets her breath back. "Are you okay?" I plead, hoping she doesn't need any extra medical care. Her neck will be bruised, but she's barely any older than myself, no one deserves this.
Clearly in shock, she fades in and out of consciousness. I lift her unto my shoulders, shooting another man coming at us. Barging into the nearest closed door, I find myself in an empty room of a seemingly big family. The room is scattered with beds and a small kitchen, probably one of the only untouched rooms in the village.
Laying the woman on a bed, I notice an older lady with a child, hiding under the bed. They're eyes are wide with fear, huddling closer with every step I take closer. They've never seen me before, they have no idea I'm here to help.
"Please take care of her, make sure she keeps breathing." I say, rushing out of the room.
Back onto the streets, seeing another solider snatching a pre-teen, grabbing him from the waist amongst screaming. The solider prepares himself when noticing me, giving me a few moments to strategize.
One thing that always helps a fighter, is never her armaments, but more her own body. In almost every battle, it's so crucial to use your own bodyweight as a tool, the heavier, the better. I guess that requires more energy, sure, but it turns your only vulnerability into the weapon.
He goes for my arm, which I predicted for only having one free hand. I step unto the wall beside me, hoisting myself around. He's startled, arm twisting awkwardly in the moments I fling behind, sending a boot straight into the skull.
Without a single hint of hesitation, I put three bullets into his chest.
Still fully conscious, the boy runs up and hugs my waist. "Thank you, thank you!" he says, voice shaken with fear.
I take aim at another man, shooting his leg. "You need to get inside the closest house, you hear? Let them take whatever they want, just stay hidden." I say, holding my gun upwards at my fourth victim. With a tiny moment to spare, I nudge the boy towards the closest door.
"No miss! You don't understand!" The boy winces, not wanting to let go. It's the plea in his voice which causes me to look down, observing the small, terrified chestnut eyes. "They're not after money! They want children! They want us!"
"What? Why?!" I yell, hugging the boy closer to the ground as gunfire breaks towards us. I find myself glancing up for a mere second to shoot another red-clothed man. "Why do they want children?"
"They want to build an army!" The boy screams, the horror in his tears strikes something new in me. The very thought, the sickening concept of being physically ripped away from your parents, only to be trained as a killer.
Imagine, the heartbroken mothers, the devastated fathers, the traumatised toddlers. A sickness goes off inside me as the town's bell rings, sensing fear in my veins for the sake of the children.
"Where do they put them?" I yell at him, shuffling him closer to a door.
"Inside the main buildings, in the middle! Then they lift them off!" He begins to sob when I let him go, but he's much safer inside a house.
Right, time to save some kids.
I leap onto the roof, being careful that no one can see. Observing the darkening day, I see the red helicopters, sending the most dreaded feeling through my soul.
Flying from roof to roof, I head straight for the town square, listening for the grouping of children. My heart pounds in my chest, letting only impulsive terror drive me into combat, I'm ready to protect these children with my life.
"No! No! Get off me! Mummy!" I hear, observing a little girl being carried into the town square. Obviously terrified, the men struggle to carry her amongst the thrashing.
I can't believe my eyes, in fact, I'm starting to believe I'm still asleep. Roughly 80 children, gripped with fear in a circular gathering, monitored by four men. The square is crazy packed, with two men assigned to every corner, clearly posted as extra security. Then, the best guess from my perspective, is another quietly posted down each street.
It's impossible to take on 16 guards, no without the children coming to harm.
Come on, think Orabelle, think.
Then, a little motion catches my eye in the southeast corner, scurrying in the afternoon light. Amongst all the gunshot and chaos, the two posted guards are given a boot to the face, before being dragged into the shadows.
A woman of striking red hair races back down the street, keeping unseen at every moment, before disappearing.
It's the troop. It must be.
"Who in God's name are you?" A boy's voice asks, observing the click of a gun against my ear. "And give me one good reason why I shouldn't tell Jackson you're here."
"Because if you do, you'll be choking before he arrives." I mutter, slowly getting up and facing the voice. I recognise the boy from the online photos, standing beside Jackson, clearly a close friend. The dark brown, bowl-cut hair gives him a softer appearance than most.
Okay, they will handle the guards, what can I do?
I could bring down the bell tower to my far right, the confusion could make them retreat? I doubt there wouldn't be children hurt though.
Possibly get the children to run to the south side of the square? Since they've taken out some guards, the numbers would be in the children's favour?
Suddenly, the faint chopper of a helicopter shutters unto my ears, turning me towards the sound. Merely hundreds of metres away, one begins to hoist down it's rope ladder, clearly for the children. A small grin plasters my electronic mask as an idea overtakes my brain, making me fasten my belt and pick up my gun.
I'll enjoy this, but let's hope I consider a good excuse afterwards.
"What? Who are you?" The boy is visibly confused.
"You need to move them from the square, now." I say, checking the semtex grenade in my belt, before sprinting towards the bell tower. Leading the race from roof to roof, I can hear my heartbeat simmering my head, as if I'm a racehorse on their final lap. Each leap becomes more daring, some I barely make, though all cuts and bruises can be handled later.
Sensing the clutter of dodgy house bricks as I glide off the roof, I take a brief second to glance back at the helicopter. I've got about 2 minutes, I must make it to the tower.
Shoving two shaken women aside, I kick the door open and almost float up the stairs. It's for the children, it's for everything they'd go through, for their protection.
Sprinting hastily up the stairs, I'm on the verge of passing out from a dry throat, my lungs are enticed with sharp pain.
I'm seconds early when I reach the roof, relieved that the town can't afford to make a decent balcony. Heaving myself at the fence, I hear myself groan as a piece of wood sticks into my arm, but continuing breaking down the architecture. Sweat drips from my forehead, smeared with whatever substance that's made its way onto my shirt.
I take a step backwards, the roaring machinery coming into sights as I prepare to time my jump. It's slowing down to pick the children up, so surely, I can make it.
Grabbing the grenade in hand, I kiss it, praying that I won't kill anyone innocent.
Just as the helicopter comes past, I leap off the roof, tangled in the air as an adrenalin-ridden mess. Hitching unto the rope, I scream in pain in the few seconds my arm clings on, giving me enough time to throw the grenade unto the helicopter.
It sticks, I won't hear its cue, I can barely hear the helicopter itself. Letting go of the rope, my focus becomes surviving the fall, focusing into rolling rather than breaking anything.
I'm not quite sure which is louder, my heart, head or the exploding grenade.